


A Test of Loyalty

by CaptainRilee



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Gen, Train test, and kiCK ASS, percival is a professor in a second life, roxy just wants to know what the fuck is going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRilee/pseuds/CaptainRilee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Job interview turned kidnapping turned interrogation. Way to go Roxy." Roxy's train test is a novel experience indeed. Percival enjoys lectures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Test of Loyalty

_What the hell..._

Roxy doesn’t make a habit of waking in unfamiliar places. 

Usually, she would regain consciousness in the same place she fell asleep, as most of the animal kingdom is wont to do. Though she would acknowledge that, on a few occasions, she slept in places that were not a bed. The hard floor, a stuffy airplane, one burning, painful experience on the beach in France. 

But this particular moment was truly a novel experience indeed. 

It felt like she was sleeping on a bed of Lego blocks, all edges and corners stabbing her in the back. She was having a difficult time opening her eyes. Everything felt heavy and dizzy. Her mouth tasted foul, as if she’d gargled with sand. 

_Eggsy was right. The champagne was totally rank._

_Wait...what?_ She reached back through the haze of her thoughts, trying to connect a memory of Eggsy to champagne. Her head felt like a thundercloud had decided to take up residence and have a monsoon. It was difficult to form a coherent thought, let alone move, but she made an attempt regardless. She shifted, only to find that her wrists and ankles felt tight. 

No, not tight. Bound. 

_Drugged_. Her memory finally supplied. She snapped to awareness, forcing her eyes open. 

The drugs were potent but they seemed to be wearing off, the fog in her skull was lifting and the fuzzy figure near her feet finally took shape. 

The waiter from the bar. 

“Hello, Roxy,” he smiled crookedly. God those teeth needed a dentist. Between that and the change of coat, he had the diabolical villain archetype down pat. There was a knife in his hand, but he was standing back and away, like she was a contagion he didn’t fancy catching. She wasn’t too alarmed for the moment, despite her bonds. She just needed to get the hell out of here. 

She squinted at him, “Who the hell are you?” 

“I’ve got some questions for you.” 

She nodded at the weapon, “And just what are you planning to do with that?” 

“This?” his grin was a horror, “This knife can save your life.” 

She was about to protest the validity of that statement, considering the circumstances of her kidnapping, when suddenly the tunnel was filled with light...headlights. 

Those drugs must have been more potent than she previously thought, because it was only in that moment that she realized the lego blocks were actually gravel and her limbs were bound to a track which was directly in the path of a-- 

“BLOODY TRAIN?!” she shrieked, “JESUS CHRIST!” She really should have paid more attention to the fact that she’d been tied to railroad tracks. The champagne was bad but her training was better. 

He was frighteningly calm, “What’s Kingsman?” 

Job interview turned kidnapping turned interrogation. Way to go Roxy. 

“What?!” she cried, “What are you talking about?” 

“Who’s William Cast?” 

Her mentor. A clever peacock with a narcissistic streak a mile wide. Prefers scotch on rocks with a twist. Has an affinity for puns and a penchant for marking up obscure volumes of Greek literature with translation corrections. The man who hunted her down with a job offer after reading her graduate thesis on Euripides’ _Medea_ and the current spike in domestic violence fatalities. 

Percival. 

“I don’t know! Untie me! Please!” Jesus, she could feel the air rushing up to meet the train. It was so close. She yanked at her bonds in a futile tug of war. 

The waiter only snarled, “I just killed two of your friends who gave me the same bullshit answer!” 

Eggsy. She felt gutted. One moment they were seducing the same target, giving away each other’s tactics and now—gone. The regret hit her like a wall, her eyes stung. 

“No!” she sobbed. _Eggsy, you brave boy, what will they tell your mum?_

She thrashed against the ropes. _Break something, slip the net, tear it down._

“Not like this!” she growled, “Not like this!” 

The man sighed in disappointment; the lack of productivity was evidently wearing on him. 

Roxy’s heart leapt, had he given up? but one glance to her left and she knew it was worthless. The train was too close. There was no time to cut her free. There was something extraordinary in that fact. It flooded her chest and set fire to her blood. 

She was going to die. 

Her captor glared, watching her struggle, “Is Kingsman worth dying for?” he challenged, sour at his thwarted efforts. 

She dug her heels into the gravel, scrambled at her bonds and with a fury she did not know she possessed, she roared, “GO TO HELL!” 

Then she closed her eyes and the ground swallowed her whole. 

She curled up as much as she could, as if that might somehow better her chances of survival, smaller surface area, less damage. The wind batted her hair. The roar of the train gliding above her was deafening. Her heart was a staccato against her ribcage, somehow syncing with the tit-tat of the wheels overhead. 

_Overhead_. Not to her left, but above her. 

She slowly opened her eyes and uncurled as much as her ropes would allow her. She was shaking. 

_So they’ll bury me alive?_ She thought strangely. 

Then it was gone. The thought, the train and the waiter. Percival was standing above her, knife in hand; the ground came back up to meet her. 

“Bloody well done, Roxanne,” he smiled warmly at her, shining with pride. 

Percival was brilliant. He lacked Galahad’s warmth and Merlin’s dry humor, but his small smile at her victories was a reward indeed. Not that she appreciated it very much at the moment. 

“Jesus Christ, Percy,” her voice was jagged and pitchy, “Classic army techniques? You bastard.” 

He heaved a long suffering sigh, “Percival.” 

She scowled, “Roxy.” 

He ignored the correction, “Regardless, your actions were commendable. You reacted to each of your aggressor’s bids authentically without compromising Kingsman.” 

His face was smooth and calm, but his eyes continued to smile. Roxy always considered this to be his professor face. Using every moment to teach, but preening at his pupil’s success. 

He continued, “Interrogation is built entirely on the exchange of information. You have something I want…or do you? They’re expecting lies, it’s the nature of the beast. But a perfect suspect sows doubt in the minds of their interrogators.” 

He gestured to the tracks, “That kind of performance makes a man question his intel…and it is in that moment that you have already won.” 

She warmed from his praise. Flushed and grinning, she replied, “To be perfectly candid, I simply reacted. A train is a great way to derail one’s rational thought.” 

If she blinked she’d have missed it, but she was watching carefully; the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. Drugged, tied to a track and interrogated: Roxy’s still got it. She could have crowed at the victory. 

Percival only shook his head and walked over to cut her ropes. His hand was quick with the easy grace of long habit. He unwound the rope from her ankles and wrists with deft fingers. 

Once freed, Roxy cradled her arms against her chest, working on clenching and relaxing her fists, hoping to encourage the blood flow back to circulation. Pin pricks danced on her skin. 

Percival helped her sit upright, the lace overlay had torn a bit from the gravel but her dress was surprisingly intact. 

His hand was warm and steady at her back, “Are you alright my dear?” 

She realized then she was still shaking, “I believe so, could you help me up?” 

They got to their feet and he threaded her arm through his, for that she was grateful. Between the subsiding adrenaline and the gravel, Roxy was having a difficult time with her stilettos. She clung to his arm with both hands. The fabric was warm beneath her fingers. Kevlar? Cordura? Something new Merlin blew up in an underground lab? 

It was a testament to her exhaustion that she was even considering the options. 

“Just to that barrier,” he encouraged her, “Merlin and the other mentors are waiting for us inside.” 

_Arthur. Galahad._ She tensed, nails clawing his arm. “How’s Eggsy?” she demanded. 

“You were the first,” he soothed, gently, “Eggsy’s next. Charlie is last.” 

A spark of interest flared in her chest, “Percival?” she smiled, eager, “May I watch?” 

He leaned in, conspiring, “Roxy my dear, that’s half the fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Roxy is BAMF.
> 
> Loved it? Leave some love for me!


End file.
